The last Gatsby
by Ibelieveinsherlock247
Summary: The year is 1922, New York city. the buildings bigger, the parties louder, the liquor cheaper, the women looser. Hannah Daniels comes to New York with a paper trail, letter's sent to her mother in her youth by a mysteries J.G Who is this man? Why was it important Hannah went to him? Please tell me if you would like more. Also please review.


_Authors note: __This is a story I came up with when I was listening to Young & Beautiful by Lana Del Ray and Bedroom Hymns by Florence the Machine. Thanks for reading and hopefully reviewing, Hannah. Ps. Tell me if you would like more!_

New York 1922. The rhythm of the city had changed, the building were bigger and flasher, the parties were bigger and louder and the liquor cheaper, the women looser.

I sat in on my seat in the second class carriage of the train. The window was foggy, I wiped away the condensation to reveal a bleak dreary and wet day, it was like God was crying for the loss of my Momma.

Momma got sick a few months ago, Cholera. Momma had lasted longer than the doctors imagined; she had died a day after my fifteenth birthday.

She had told me under a loose floor board in her room was a small sweet tin, when she died, I went to her room and sure enough there it was, inside was letters, letters from a man, he never said his name, just his initials, _J.G _.

Momma had left a will, the house and property went to the church, but what little money Momma had went to me, I sold all are belonging bar a few thing, to pay for the journey. In the will it told me to go New York. To J.G.

When we arrived at the station it was four o' clock. The rain plastered my sandy blonde hair to my face; my blues eyes scanned the crowd.

I knew nobody was waiting for me, Momma nor I knew anybody in New York. I picked up my small vinyl suitcase and walked to the edge of the side walk, the passing cars spraying her tight clad legs with water. The city was busy, loud and crowded. I was terrified. I past a man sitting in a doorway smoking a cigarette, a stack of papers beside him and a large bill board with a plastic sheet covering it.

'_**Millionaire Gatsby murdered in West Egg home, the killer of Myrtle Wilson?**_' __

I stopped when I saw the headline, I took one of the few dollars I had from my pocket and passed it to the man, who passed me a now rain splattered paper.

I sat down on my case at the edge of the pavement and read the article; it said that Mr Gatsby had been in an incident, a hit in run in which a Mrs Myrtle Wilson had been killed, it also said there was a rumour that Mr Gatsby had been having an affair with the said Mrs Wilson and her husband found out and murdered Gatsby before killing himself.

"My lord, such grisly affairs" I murmured under my breath there was a big black and white picture of someone I presumed was Gatsby, he was a good looking man with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes mostly likely judging by how light they were in the picture.

In the picture he was smiling wearing a smart suit next, to him was a short man with dark hair, the shorter man was smiling.

Under the photo in small print said:

"_Jay Gatsby, at one of his many parties featured with close friend Nick Caraway"_

"J.G, Jay Gatsby" I muttered, there must be hundreds of men in the New York area with the initials J.G. But this man was a lead and it seemed like a good place to start.

My feet hurt as I reached the end of the Brooklyn Bridge, I walked down the street leading to the West Egg homes, I was exhausted and could hardly go on, a black beaten up second hand car stopped next to me. I stopped not looking at the driver, Momma had always told me to be careful with strangers, especially in New York.

"Would like a lift Miss?" he asked, he had a gentle and concerned voice; it was youthful sounding, but still sounded like he had felt great sadness, a sadness not unlike my own.

I looked at him; it was the man from the photo of Gatsby.

"Are you going to the West Egg homes?" I asked

"Yes, in fact I am, I'll give you a lift" I nodded, he took my case and put it in the back of the car and we both got into the car.

"So are you visiting someone or are you her for a more scenic walk?" I smiled slightly.

"I am visiting yes, not a person though, a house" Mr Caraway nodded.

After an hour we pulled up in front of a small house, it was slated with plenty of flowers it was quaint and welcoming.

"So which house are you going to Miss?" he asked as we got out.

"I'm not sure, who owns this little place?" The man chuckled.

"I do not mean to alarm you or worry you, but this is my home, you obviously have no idea where you were going to I brought you to my home to see if it would help to get an I idea, but you obviously still have no idea where you are going" I nodded.

"You're right, I have no idea where I am going, I do have one clue though"

"Oh really?" I nodded and took the paper from my case and handed it to him.

"You're looking for Tilda Swanson?" he said frowning in confusion.

I shook my head and flipped the paper around to reveal the photo of him and Gatsby.

"I'm looking for Mr Gatsby's house" Mr Caraway swallowed and looked at me, his eyes widened; I didn't know what was wrong.

"Mr Caraway are you alright Sir?" he didn't respond, he just looked from me to the photo.

"Who are you?" he asked me shocked. I was silent for a moment unsure if I should tell the man.

"I ask again Miss, who are you?" he asked in a firmer tone

"Hannah Daniels…Or Gatsby"


End file.
